Fight!
by Osiris-Ra
Summary: The second blow was always the worst. Jack stumbled and fell to the ground, spitting blood. Sawyer advanced towards him, brandishing the army knife. Oneshot, Violence and some Language


**Author's Note:** I don't know why I wrote this. It just kind of came to me, and I figured...what the hey! Another of those What-If situations I adore so. Enjoy the senseless violence!

**FIGHT!**

The second blow was always the worst. Jack stumbled and fell to the ground, spitting blood. Sawyer advanced towards him, brandishing the army knife.

The sudden spat had quickly attracted attention. It wasn't often (enough) that something broke out between folks on the beach. In confused, quietly conversing trickles, the other survivors slowly formed a circle around the two men. Sayid was first to the scene, and made a point of staring down Sawyer with stark disapproval. Ana Lucia broke through the crowd, and paused for a moment, eyeing Sawyer's hand which clutched what used to be her knife. She started to make her way towards him, but was stopped in her tracks by a grunt and warning glare from the Southerner.

"This ain't your fight, butt out."

"Give me the knife, Sawyer."

"I said, butt out." Sawyer repeated through his teeth. His gaze returned to Jack who lay writhing on his back in the sand. Jack was staring up at Sawyer, remorselessness and contempt burning in his eyes. Slowly, he raised a hand and wiped away some of the blood dripping from his chin. A smile curled his lips, revealing reddened teeth.

"Why don't you fight like a man, Sawyer?" He eyed the knife. Sawyer knew what he wanted him to do, but he wasn't quite willing to comply. He had the upper hand. He could take the smug doctor out anytime he wanted to. The fist that firmly held the knife trembled. How he'd savor the satisfaction of squeezing the life out of Jack. As he imagined it, his hand squeezed on the knife handle tighter and tighter and tighter until finally, he dropped it.

As much as he'd love to, he couldn't. That wasn't why they were here.

The knife landed blade first in the sand.

Sawyer balled up his hands and advanced towards Jack. As he leaned over to pound the daylights out of his opponent, Jack's hand suddenly flew up, spraying Sawyer in the eyes with a generous amount of sand. Sawyer yelled and reeled back, frantically pawing at his eyes. Jack scrambled up and tackled Sawyer, shoving him to the ground and there, proceeded to hit him again and again. Sawyer's head seemed to bounce as each blow landed, and soon, as the pounding progressed, onlookers could see traces of crimson on the doctor's fists.

Sayid, who had been observing disgustedly from the front of the onlookers circle growled.

"Stop this, you _fools_!" He charged into the circle and tried to pull Jack off of Sawyer. Jack shoved Sayid back and continued hitting Sawyer. Suddenly, Sawyer head-butted Jack, sending him flailing backwards. Sawyer spewed a mouthful of crimson at him, and delivered a violent hook to Jack's sand dusted cranium. Jack took the blow better than Sawyer had expected, merely staggering slightly to the left and ducking Sawyer's next rather frustrated punch. Jack retorted quickly with a swinging blow to Sawyer's belly. The strike shook the Southerner, and he collapsed to one knee, clutching his belly.

Breathing heavily, Jack took this time to remove his shoes. He tossed them to the side and stood facing Sawyer. Sawyer smeared away some of the blood from his heavily bruised face and struggled to stand. He smiled crudely.

"Nice shot Doc. Didn't think you had it in you."

"You think a lotta things, Sawyer."

Sawyer laughed breathlessly. "Why don't you get your buddy Mohammed there? You can tag team, I'll knock the chicken-shit outta both of ya."

Jack shifted his bare feet and put his hands on his hips. "You're pathetic, Sawyer."

"Screw you too, Doc."

The onlookers who were crowded shoulder to shoulder with each other, half-expecting a show, now backed slightly off from the fighters circle, as if anticipating something much worse, and far less entertaining.

Sayid took a chance and stepped forward once more into the circle, intent on ending the brawl. He leaned in close to Jack's ear and said in a whisper.

"Call it off, Jack. It isn't worth it." He glanced at the Southerner. "_He_ isn't worth it."

Jack didn't react. Nor did he acknowledge Sayid's warning. Instead he moved towards Sawyer and began to circle. Sawyer followed suit, locking eyes with the Doctor and taking slow, careful steps in a shared orbit with his opponent, grinning mischievously.

Sayid returned to the onlookers circle and crossed his arms. Ana came up beside him, glanced at the fighters, then at Sayid.

"Aren't you gonna do anything?"

No word came from Sayid. He stood silent, looking on disagreeably.

"This is absurd! They're gonna kill each other!"

Still, the Iraqi remained silent. Ana exhaled sharp exasperation and started to approach the fighters. Sayid grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, shaking his head. A firm "No." Ana stared in disbelief.

Jack and Sawyer suddenly peeled off towards one another. Both men collided. There was a startling sound of flesh and bone impacting the other, then of fists striking flesh. It certainly wasn't a photogenic battle. Far from the gracefully choreographed fight scenes of popular culture. In a frightening way, it was almost childishly played out. Grown men flailing at each other, trying to get in a blow, sometimes grasping each other in a powerful bear hug, intending to squeeze the life out of the other. Their feet moved in an awkward dance as each man tried to calculate the other's next step. Neither hardly ever succeeded. Sawyer managed to trip Jack, and instantly fell on him, trapping him in a leg-lock. Jack tried in vain to contort himself out of the grip, but Sawyer only tightened his grasp. In a frantic move, Jack looped his arm around Sawyer's neck and squeezed. For a second, it appeared he could cause Sawyer enough discomfort to finally wriggle out of his leg-lock, but to Jack's disbelief, Sawyer managed to reverse the grab and clamped his arms around Jack's throat. With all the efficiency of a boa constrictor, Sawyer squeezed. Jack's face quickly turned red and a vein protruded from his forehead. The more he desperately gasped for air, the more Sawyer squeezed. Sawyer could feel Jack's body beginning to tire of resisting.

"James!" Sawyer heard Locke roar from the crowd, but he ignored the warning in his voice. This was it. The doctor was wheezing grotesquely for lack of oxygen, and slowly, his eyes began to glaze. Sawyer would have kept squeezing if he hadn't suddenly seen someone in the crowd looking at him. Kate's face, unlike those of the majority of the onlookers, was devoid of expression. When his eyes met hers, he began to wonder how long she had been looking on. He hadn't noticed her before. He had been too engrossed in the releasing violence of the fight. Did he detect the faintest hint of pity in her eyes?

All at once, his constricting hold on Jack loosened. Jack inhaled violently and collapsed to the ground, his chest rising up and down, wheezing for air. The blood rushed back to his features and slowly, the pulsing vein in his forehead sunk down to a normal size.

Sawyer scooted away from Jack. He sat in the sand with his legs sprawled out, staring at the ground, his hands pressing into the sand as he caught his breath. Ana and Sayid hurried towards Jack, inspecting him and asking him if he was ok, which he obviously wasn't. Jack only nodded rapidly and put his hand to his chest, indicating that his heart was racing. Sayid and Ana collectively helped Jack to his feet.

"Congratulations, Sawyer." Sayid said icily as he adjusted one of Jack's arms over his shoulder. Supporting Jack's weight over their shoulders, Ana and Sayid headed off.

The crowd slowly dispersed, displaying neither happiness nor sympathy, but rather a displaced sort of bewilderment and horror at the entire experience of witnessing the startling display. Sawyer was himself a little horrified, not at what had taken place, but at realizing what he must have looked like during it. He cupped both hands to his face for a moment, running his fingers under the fleshy fold of his brow, over his facial stubble and rubbing his irritated eyes. When his hands came away from his face, he saw that they were stained with blood. Whose blood was it, he wondered. His or Jack's? He balled his hands into fists and examined his knuckles. He'd clobbered Jack pretty good. Maybe too good. At any rate, no matter what, he'd accomplished what he'd intended to. And he was again just as he believed he deserved to be. Alone.


End file.
